


Strikeout

by AGirlNamedEd



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Bad Flirting, Character Development, Developing Relationship, F/M, Miss Pauling doesn't get paid enough for this, Scout is an idiot, and we all love him that way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-10 06:59:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGirlNamedEd/pseuds/AGirlNamedEd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After yet another failed attempt at picking up Miss Pauling, Scout resorts to asking his teammates for advice.  The results are..."mixed" at best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Batter Up

**Author's Note:**

> In which Scout fails miserably, though that's nothing new.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Scout is a jackass and Miss Pauling only puts up with so much shit.

“Heeey, Miss P, how’s it goin’?”

Her small shoulders stiffened slightly for a split second, then she started down the hall again, ignoring him. The BLU Scout wasn’t known for his tenacity for nothing, though. “So guess who was totally dominating that RED Sniper bastard today?” Without waiting for an answer, he ploughed right forward. “Me, that’s who! Pretty great, right?”

“I know, Scout, I saw the logs of today’s battle too.” Miss Pauling continued walking, her head held high, looking straight ahead and not at the lanky young man sauntering cockily at the edge of her vision. “But I’m busy and have some paperwork to fill out about said domination and ordering seventeen crates of new bullets for Heavy’s minigun. Shouldn’t you go hit the showers or something?”

“Nah, I’d rather hang out here with a pretty girl like you.” Scout flipped the microphone on his headset up again, it had been falling down a lot lately and he needed to get Engineer to lend him a screwdriver or something. He flashed the thin brunette a cocky grin. “Sides, there’s six other team members who’ll want ta hit the showers ahead of me.”

“Six?”

“Pyro’n Spy.”

“Oh. Well, that said, and tempting as that offer is, I’d really, really appreciate it if you went and had a shower, Scout.” She finally looked at him, but it was with a look of annoyance and mild disgust. “You smell like about three or four day’s worth of body odor and cheap cologne.”

He sniffed his armpit as she looked away. “I do not,” he said defensively.

“Yes, yes you do.”

“Do not. This is the smell of a man, Miss Pauling. This is how a real man smells after bein’ in a war zone like I was just a couple short hours ago.”

“It’s the smell of a real slob who can’t take a few minutes out of his day to shower.”

“Eh, six and half a dozen. Besides, I’m sure you could use the company, being holed up with no one but yer grouchy boss for company in here all day.” He winked at her slowly and deliberately.

She finally stopped walking and turned to face him fully. “Look, Scout, I’m going to put this in simple terms for you. I’m not interested in you, alright? I’m just not. Now go back to the base and have a shower and forget we ever had this conversation.” Miss Pauling opened a door next to her marked “Top Secret” and walked through, closing it behind her with a soft click and leaving a confused and upset Bostonian in her wake.

***

Engineer looked up as a dejected-looking Scout trudged into the base’s small kitchen/mess hall. “Everythin’ okay, son?” he asked. Scout didn’t answer, just grabbed a box of cereal from a cupboard and started eating it out of the box by the handful.

The others recognised this as being one of Scout’s moods that he occasionally got into if something wasn’t going the way he’d planned. Some ignored him, like Heavy and Medic; others eyed him somewhat nervously, as though he was a ticking time bomb about to go off at the slightest thing. Only Demoman didn’t seem to notice, likely because he was already on his second bottle of Scrumpy. Scout eventually put the box back in the cupboard and started raiding other parts of the kitchen for food. He was an emotional eater and dealt with anger, stress, and disappointment by eating if he couldn’t bash some RED heads in with his trusty Sandman.

What the hell was Miss Pauling’s problem? Here he was, the picture of youthful exuberance and rugged good looks and manliness, and she “just wasn’t interested” in him? Come to think of it, most times he tried to talk to or impress girls, be it in his teen years in Boston, or the girls in the nearest town, or Miss Pauling herself, they seemed awkward or confused. He’d always thought it was just because they were so impressed with him that they just didn’t know how to respond to such a great opportunity presenting itself, but with Miss P’s blunt rejection, he was faced with an all-too-real possibility.

None of the girls he’d ever tried to “woo” as Engie sometimes called it had ever been interested, never would be interested maybe, and he just couldn’t figure out why. Sure, maybe sometimes he came on a bit too strong. Or okay, maybe he needed to work on his pickup lines. But that was no real reason to outright reject him. And so bluntly. Maybe that was what bothered Scout more than Miss Pauling’s actual rejection—the fact that she’d done so with all the gentleness of a falling brick.

He was moodily munching away on his fifth donut and still mulling it over when Soldier marched in rather loudly, surprising everybody. “What’re you all lollygaggin’ around here for?! We got REDs ta fight! This war ain’t gonna win itself, ya lazy—”

“Ze battle is over for today, dummkopf,” Medic interrupted grouchily. The battle hadn’t gone well for Medic; he’d been the favourite target of the RED Demoman and Spy all day.  
“Ve eat, and rest, and go back out tomorrow.”

“Oh. Well why didn’t anyone tell me?! I been out there fer the past two hours lookin’ fer more a them RED cowards ta show themselves and—” He cut himself off this time, seeing what Scout was eating. “Hey! Those’re my donuts, boy! Plain! Original!” He snatched the box away from Scout. “Just the way I like ‘em!”

Scout scowled. “Whatever, Helmet. Keep yer boring donuts.” He grabbed a can of Bonk! Atomic Punch out of the pile of food in front of him. “Didn’t think there was enough sugar on ‘em,” he muttered, popping the can open.

“Somethin’ botherin’ you, son?” Engineer asked again. He’d finished eating a while ago from the looks of things, and was fiddling with a toolkit and a busted alarm clock. “Yer in a mood again.”

The energy drink’s caffeine started kicking in after the first gulp, and Scout found himself bouncing in his seat as he chugged the can. “I’m fine. Just had a bad day.”

“Didn’t seem that way when ya creamed that lousy RED Sniper taday!” Soldier proclaimed, the incident with the donuts seemingly forgiven as he clapped the younger man on the shoulder. “What’s eatin’ ya, kid?”

Scout stood up, the energy uncontainable, and started pacing back and forth in the kitchen’s empty space quickly. “Nothin’, it’s just…you know, sometimes stuff happens and you can’t really explain why or what or how or anythin’, but it just happens and it bothers you and you don’t know why but it does, and that’s kind of what’s going on now and girls are stupid and—”

“Oh-ho! Woman troubles, eh?” Soldier grinned. “Well well, has our little Scout finally decided to become a man after all this time?”

“No, I mean yeah, I mean it’s complicated okay?!”

Heavy laughed his big, booming laugh. “Tiny baby man having trouble with girlies? Tiny baby man is girlie himself!”

Scout’s face and ears were starting to go red and his pacing quickened. “I am not! I just—I don’t—girls are weird! How the hell do you figure out what they want?”

Sniper snorted, smirking into his coffee. “Ya don’t, mate. Ya guess and hope ya get it right. S’how it works.”

“Well that’s stupid.” He grabbed a few of the foodstuffs from his foraging off the table and went running off to his room. Then he ran back to the kitchen and grabbed some more things. “And for yer information,” he said, picking up a package of potato chips, “I am not having girl troubles.” He raced out of the room, chased by the laughter of his teammates.

***

After the Bonk! Atomic Punch had finally worn off, Scout found himself exhausted. It had been a long day, and having an energy drink had seemed like a good idea at the time until he remembered the burnout. He’d had to run around the base three times before it started to wear off, and it wasn’t exactly a small base. Now he wandered back towards the entrance, sleepy and physically exhausted but still annoyed at Miss Pauling and women in general. He’d had a lot of time to think while he was running, but he still hadn’t come up with any answers, only more questions. Why didn’t girls appreciate the direct approach? At least he was honest about wanting to get into their skirts. And how come they never seemed impressed at the fact that he was basically a war hero? And, most of all, how come they were such a huge mystery? Guys were easier to figure out, in his opinion, and if it was his opinion, it must be right.

A figure was waiting for him in the doorway. It was Soldier, leaning on the doorframe, arms folded and drumming his fingers on his upper arm. He perked up when he saw Scout. 

“Finally,” he said. “Took ya long enough! C’mere!” Without waiting for an answer as usual, he grabbed Scout by the arm and dragged him down the hallway.

“Ow! Soldier, leggo! I ain’t got time for this, man; I need a shower an’ bed! It’s one in the freakin’ morning, piss off!”

“Perfect! Then we’re just in time!” He hauled Scout into the mess hall. It was empty now; everyone else had gone to bed.

“In time for wh-oof!” Soldier flung him unceremoniously into a chair. He scrambled to sit upright as Soldier stood over him.

“In time for Professor Soldier’s Woman-Romancin’ 101! Take out yer notebooks, kids, class is in session!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a super-old fanfic I wrote and I'm posting it here because reasons. (Just as a quick warning: I can't write Solly worth beans.)


	2. Batter Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I can't write Soldier worth beans and Scout fails even more miserably than last time.

Scout stared up at his teammate in disbelief. “You seriously want to do this now. You’re freakin’ serious about wanting t’ do this right now.”

“Hell yes I’m freakin’ serious! This is a serious situation, boy! Yer what, in yer twenties and ye’v never had a successful anythin’! That’s a crime against nature, boy, and I’m gonna raise yer chances by over 8000 per cent!”

“Excuse me.”

The two looked to the doorway of the mess hall. An annoyed and tired looking Medic wearing a bathrobe and not much else was glaring at them. “Some of us who sleep next to ze mess hall vould like to actually sleep. As a vise man once said, shut ze hell op.” He turned on his heel and stalked back to his room.

Scout looked pleadingly up at Soldier. “C’mon, Rocket-Man, it’s late and we got work tomorrow. This can wait, can’t it?” He was grateful that at least someone wanted to help him out with his issues, but he still didn’t completely understand what those issues were, and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted Soldier, of all people, to help him out.

Soldier looked uncertain. “I think we’d better sort this out now,” he said. “How’re ya supposed to get a proper grasp on how t’handle a woman if ain’t nobody told ya?”

Grasping at straws, Scout tried a new tactic. “How’m I supposed to dominate any REDs tomorrow if I don’t get any sleep?”

That did it, as Scout had hoped it would. “Alright, git t’bed already, ya little brat! But I want to see you here immediately after the battle tomorrow and ready to learn! Professor Soldier’s gonna iron out all your lady problems, you’ll see!”

“Uh, right, thanks,” Scout muttered, standing up. “Night, Soldier.” He left the kitchen and trudged back to his room. At least Soldier wanted to help. That was something. Who knew, maybe he’d actually have some good advice for Scout.

Who am I kidding, he thought as he collapsed on his bed, not bothering to change. This is Soldier we’re talking about.

***

That day’s battle didn’t go well for Scout. The BLUs were supposed to take a large, live bomb strapped to a cart and deliver it to a specific area within the REDs territory. It was hard enough since the bomb was huge and heavy and the cart would start rolling backwards if no one pushed it, but someone had let the REDs know about their mission and they were constantly under heavy fire. Scout had tried to run ahead to clear the way or at least see what they were up against, but with all the sticky bomb traps and Pyro ambushes on the way that was easier said than done. By the end of it, they’d gotten the bomb to the required destination and claimed a victory for Team BLU, but Scout and likely most of the rest of the team felt like they may as well have just dropped the bomb on themselves and saved the REDs the trouble.

Scout wanted to go visit Miss Pauling again, but he didn’t think he could face her so soon after her rejection and especially since he’d been bragging so much the previous day about how great he was. That day had been a disaster and he just wanted to have a bite to eat and a shower.

As he trudged into the mess hall, a loud, brash voice greeted him. “Hey, Scout, c’mon over here’n have a seat!”

At least someone’s happy, he thought gloomily, grabbing his box of cereal and warily approaching the grinning Soldier. Everyone else was nursing headaches and respawn-nausea and other injuries from the day, but Soldier looked like a million bucks.

“Shouldn’t you be bummed like everyone else, Bucket-Head?” Scout asked, plopping down in a chair next to his would-be mentor. “You hate it when fights don’t go well.”

“Hey, we beat those dirty REDs fair’n’square! Anyone who tells ya otherwise is a dirty hippie pig!” He glared at Heavy and Sniper; Scout guessed there’d been some conversations about this already and decided to drop the subject.

“Fine, you said you could help me maybe?” He started eating cereal by the handful again.

“Course I can! If there’s one thing a veteran like me knows, son, it’s women! Now listen up! First of all, the most important thing when it comes to relationships with the opposite sex is to make sure you assert your dominance! Women love that!”

Scout frowned. “I don’t think—”

“Exactly! That’s why you can’t ever have any success with women! Ya don’t think! Women like thinkers, boy, so make sure that while yer showin’ off what a man’s man y’are, ya show her just how much of a thinker you are, too! That way she knows yer a catch and she feels safe around ya!”

Scout doubted anyone had ever felt safe around Soldier, but didn’t say that out loud. “But don’t most girls hate being told what to do?”

“Bah, only the crazy feminist commie ones. Trust me, kid, you don’t want one o’those. They’re nothin’ but trouble!” Soldier looked grumpy now, and Scout had learned from experience that making Soldier grumpy never led to good things.

“Still, I think maybe they like guys who’re all badass and stuff?” he tried.

The older man nodded, grinning. “Oh, women like badasses alright! That’s why ya gotta assert yer dominance, like I said! Nothin’ says ‘badass’ like a guy who shows he can give orders and expect ‘em to be followed!”

Despite everything that made Scout sane telling him that Soldier’s advice was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard, he had to admit that there was a slim chance that it could work. “Assert your dominance.” Yeah, he could do that. Let her know who wears the pants around this joint!

“Do girls like the direct approach?” he asked. Maybe that had been his problem all along—the direct approach was a thing of the past, and girls of today liked it when you showed who was boss.

Soldier nodded sagely. “Well, some do, some don’t. Ya gotta play it by ear. But above all, never be afraid ta let her know exactly what ya want!”

“Which is?” Scout asked warily. This conversation was starting to get awkward, especially since everyone else in the mess hall was looking at them. Sniper was sniggering quietly, Spy was smiling and shaking his head, and Engineer just looked perplexed. Once again the only one who didn’t seem to notice what was going on was Demoman, who was being even louder than Soldier as he ranted about Nessie or something in yet another drunken stupor.

“Why, ta get laid o’course!” Soldier replied, seemingly surprised that Scout wouldn’t know that.

The young man choked on his cereal. Soldier pounded him on the back during his coughing fit until he could breathe again. Sure, it wasn’t like Scout didn’t want to have sex, in fact it was on his mind quite a lot, especially when he was around Miss Pauling, but somehow hearing Soldier state it flat out was just wrong and more than a little disturbing.

“I think ya need ta go try it out fer yerself,” Soldier declared, barely (if at all) registering that his “student” had almost choked to death in front of him. “Miss Pauling should be in the office right about now; ya should go talk to her!”

Scout was already pale from lack of air, but he turned paler and started to feel sick at Soldier’s suggestion. “No way, man, there’s no way I’m talkin’ to her right now!”

“Why the hell not?! She’s a pretty thing about yer age, good head on her shoulders, I’d think ya’d want t’ talk to a girl like her!”

“It’s not that.” Scout felt sicker. “She, uh, it didn’t go too well last time we talked, and I don’t wanna talk to her right now, okay?!”

Soldier scowled. “I can’t believe this pansy chicken-talk I’m hearin’! Are you a man or are you a cowardly man?!” He shoved a still-protesting Scout towards the door. “Now go on, git! I don’t want ta see yer face ‘round here til ye’v had a go at li’l Miss P or I’ll shove yer stupid headphone up yer—”

“Okay okay okay! I’m goin’ already! Jesus!” Scout forced himself to walk out of the room, shoulders set determinedly. This was going to work, he told himself. All he had to do was show her who was boss, and everything would just fall into place. Simple as that. Maybe.

“Excellent! I’m gonna go take care of my plants now!” As he walked off, Scout heard Soldier mutter, “Now where did I put those raisins?”

***

Ten minutes later, Scout stomped back into the mess hall. Demoman was arguing with Soldier while Pyro was carefully setting papers on fire in a metal bucket. Soldier looked away from his opponent and brightened at the sight of his “charge.” “Well, how’d it go, boy?” he asked, completely forgetting his argument. “Was she swept off her feet by the sheer power of manliness ya got?”

Scout glared at him and turned his face to present its left side to Soldier. A large red mark covered most of it, and it was slowly bruising, turning purplish. “Does this answer your question?” he snapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really really can't write Soldier.


	3. Ball 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which advice is given and taken from a dubious drunken source and Scout uses the word "pretty" a lot.

Scout winced. The left side of his face still stung from the day before. It wouldn’t have been as humiliating if he’d gotten hurt in battle or something, but it was a hand slap from an angry girl. A girl! Scout didn’t think of himself as easily embarrassed, but getting slapped so hard your face bruised and even Medic laughed at you when you went to him for help was just downright humiliating.

A bullet whipped by his ear with a whistle and buried itself in the wall behind him. He jumped in surprise, then did his best to focus. Today’s mission was to get a briefcase from some RED base and get it safely back to the BLU base not far away. Scout was running recon as usual and he guessed he’d been spotted. He scanned the area, quickly spotting the RED Engineer with his pistol out and aimed right at him. Scout ducked behind a wall just before the Engineer fired and went looking for another route that didn’t take him through the path of an angry RED and his level three sentry.

He circled around behind, making his way back to the resupply room. His scattergun was nearly empty and a quick heal wouldn’t go unappreciated either. By the time he got back, his scattergun was empty and he had to fend off REDs with his pistol and trusty bat. Exhausted, Scout leaned against the cabinet in the resupply room and gulped in air. Recon was great for the Team and all, but it took a lot out of a guy, even if said guy was a perfect example of a strapping young man.

“Y’okay, laddie?”

Scout looked up at Demoman, who had just walked in. “Yeah, no problem,” he grinned, straightening up. “Just grabbin’ some more ammo so’s I can go bust some more heads!”

The Scottish Cyclops laughed and clapped Scout on the back, nearly knocking him over. “Aye, ‘tis a good day t’be on BLU! Jes’ pick up some paperwork’n’head on home fer tea’n biscuits, yeh?”

“Uh…right.” Scout started reloading his scattergun and stuffed several more refills in his pockets. “Well, better get back out there,” he said with forced cheerfulness. “I got a bat with that RED Engie’s name on it.”

Demoman squinted at Scout’s bat. “RED Engineer’s name is Sandman?”

“Never mind. Let’s get goin’ already!”

“Hold up, lad.” Demoman was staring at Scout’s face. “What’s all that aboot?”

“Oh, the bruise? Nothin’, really.” Okay, Scout really wanted out of there now.

Demoman produced a bottle of Scrumpy from seemingly out of nowhere and took a swig. “Wouldn’t have anythin’ ta do with yer conversation wiv Soldier las’ night, would it?”

Scout scowled and looked away, folding his arms. “I don’t wanna talk about it. Shouldn’t we be gettin’ back out there?”

“I thought ‘s much.” The tall man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Wimmen, eh? Cannae live with ’em, cannae live without ’em.”  
Scout snorted, tapping his bat against his foot. “Ain’t that the truth.”

“Yeh still lookin’ fer advice?”

He hesitated. Eh, the Team could wait a couple minutes. “Sure, shoot.”

“Presents’n’praise, lad, presents’n’praise. Shower her wiv both and she’s sure t’come ‘round eventually.” Another clap on the shoulder and Demoman grabbed a couple grenades from the cabinet and sprinted out of the room, shouting “FRAEEEDOOOOM!” at the top of his lungs.

Scout hefted his scattergun and ran out after him, shooting at anything that got in his way and easily crossing back over to where the RED Engineer had set up camp. Actually, he thought as he clocked the Engie over the head and ran from his sentry, what Demoman said makes a lot of sense. It certainly made more sense than Soldier’s advice. All he’d gotten from that was a bruise, an even lower ranking in Miss Pauling’s good books, and a bad mood. But gifts? He could do gifts. Praise? Piece a cake. Scout was quite the ladykiller, after all (figuratively, of course); he could handle handing out compliments.

He grinned as he shot at the Engineer’s sentry. It started to shoot back, so he quickly fled, but he wasn’t worried. He had renewed hope, and best of all, he knew just what to get Miss Pauling to get him back in her good books—if he’d ever been there to begin with.

***

She stared at the hastily-wrapped object in his hands. “A handgun?”

He grinned at her. “Maybe.”

“Scout, it’s pretty clear that it’s a handgun.”

“You never know,” he said defensively. “It might be a necklace in a handgun-shaped box.”

Miss Pauling looked up at the young man. “I’m not going to get away from you unless I unwrap it, am I?”

“Nope,” he replied cheerfully. He held it out. “C’mon, what harm could it do?”

She sighed and reluctantly took the package. It was wrapped in blueprints and held together with heavy-duty masking tape. “Does Engineer know you have his blueprints?” she asked, carefully trying to unwrap it without ripping anything important.

“Naw, I took these off the Engineer I got today,” he boasted.

Miss Pauling held up the crumpled blue paper and inspected it. It appeared to be for an electronic percolator. She looked at the object that had been wrapped in it. It was indeed a handgun.

“Surprise!” he sang. “It’s a pistol!”

She shook her head. “Scout, I can’t accept this. You need it for work.”

“Nah, I have another one in my room and I never use this one.” He beamed at her. “Besides, I think you need it more’n me.”

She held it out for him. “No, I don’t. I can’t accept it; take it back.”

“No, you do! See, I figure, a pretty lady like you needs t’be able to protect herself! Ya know how dangerous it can be out there, all them creepers creepin’ about. An’ creepers love pickin’ on pretty girls, such as yerself, so I said to myself, ‘as a man, it’s my duty t’make sure nothin’ bad happens to pretty li’l Miss Pauling while she’s out and about,’ and I had a brainwave and here we are.” Scout hoped he’d used the word “pretty” enough. He pushed the gun back towards her. “Want me to show ya how to use it?”

“No, I want you to take it back.” She pressed it firmly into his hand. “I do know how to take care of myself, thanks, and I have used guns before. Now go on back to base; I have some paperwork that needs doing and I’m sure you have some business to attend to as well.”

Scout stared at the Pretty Boy’s Pocket Pistol in his hand. “You…you don’t like it?”

She ignored him. “I’m going now. Goodnight, Scout.”

He nodded and turned to go dejectedly. “Scout?” Her voice stopped him and he looked over his shoulder at her. She gave him a small smile. “I appreciate the sentiment, I really do. But like I said, I can take care of myself.” She turned and disappeared through a door.

***

Heavy was happily making himself a third sandwich when Scout sauntered into the mess hall. He glanced up. Scout didn’t look as grouchy as he had a couple days ago. In fact he almost looked pleased with himself. Heavy didn’t know why, and he didn’t really care either, and he just went back to making his sandwich.

Scout scanned the room until he spotted Demoman chugging a bottle in the corner. He walked over to him, a self-satisfied grin on his face. “Hey, Cyclops.” Demoman squinted up at him. Scout’s grin widened. “Thanks fer earlier,” he said. “Didn’t go like I planned, but hey, progress, right?”

Demoman nodded, looking like he wasn’t quite sure what he was agreeing with, and Scout headed off again, grabbing several items out of the fridge on his way out, whistling a little tune. If any of the other mercenaries had cared any about popular music, they might’ve recognised it as “She Loves You” by the Beatles. Yeah, it’d been a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you, Tavish Finnegan DeGroot. Marry me.


	4. Ball 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Official Things are referenced and Scout knows nothing about books.

The next day was Saturday, and that meant Scout got to do whatever he felt like. Unfortunately, when you were based in an area that was nothing, nothing, a small town, and more nothing, there really wasn’t a whole lot to do. He went for a run, but that only killed about an hour. He tried flipping through a magazine, but he wasn’t much of a reader and he’d read all the ones he owned anyway. He was this close to asking Engie for a ride into town when the Texan poked his head into Scout’s room.

“Sniper, Pyro’n I’re headin’ inta town t’get some supplies,” he said. “Like t’come along, Scout?”

Scout shrugged like he hadn’t just been planning to ask for that. “Sure, I guess,” he said nonchalantly. He grabbed his bag and followed Engie.

Ten minutes later, Scout and Sniper were riding in the bed of Engineer’s truck while Engineer drove and Pyro sat in the passenger seat, pressed up against the window and pointing at random things as they passed by. Scout shook his head. “How the hell does he put up with that guy all the time?”  
Sniper glanced at him. “Who?”

“Engie. How does he put up with Pyro bein’…well, Pyro all the time? I mean, he’s basically Pyro’s only friend, and Pyro follows him freakin’ everywhere.”

The older man adjusted his hat so it rested over his eyes. “Reckon it’s t’do with Truckie bein’ Truckie,” he said. “The man can be nice to a fault sometimes. ‘Cept when he’s angry, o’course.”

Scout remembered hearing Engineer’s laugh in the heat of battle and made a mental note never to piss him off. He looked over at Sniper, who appeared to be trying to doze off, and was struck with a sudden thought. “Hey, Stretch.” Sniper peeked out from under the hat with one eye. “How much d’you know about girls?”

Sniper smirked. “This again? Whoever’s caught yer fancy’s caught it well’n good, hasn’t she, mate?”

Scout mentally kicked himself for asking. “Whatever, if ya don’t know, ya don’t know,” he grumbled.

An awkward silence followed.

“I mean, maybe it’s my approach?” Scout finally said. Sniper looked at him again. “Look, a young, athletic, good-lookin’ guy like me should have ladies fawnin’ all over ‘im, right?”

The Australian snorted. “And yer so modest, too.”

Scout had a hard time telling through the accent, but he was pretty sure that was sarcasm. He scowled. “Cool guys like me don’t haveta be modest,” he boasted. “We know what we got, so we make the most outta it.”

“Sure. And make sure everyone else knows, too.”

“Exactly! ‘Cept I think somethin’s up with my approach. See, I usually come on strong t’girls, let ‘em know what to expect, y’know? I figure that’s honest enough, an’ girls’re supposed t’appreciate junk like honesty. But they never seem t’appreciate it!” He looked at Sniper again, who was shaking his head, an amused look on his face. “Well? What’m I doin’ wrong, smart-ass?”

“How ‘bout everythin’?” Sniper suggested. When Scout glared at him, he just laughed. “Look, mate, you really want my opinion?” Scout nodded and he sighed. “Well, I’m not as experienced with sheilas as, say, Spy maybe, but I generally apply the same rules ta skirt-chasin’ as I do t’work. Have standards, be polite, that sorta thing.” He paused. “Y’might want ta skip the ‘kill everyone you meet’ bit, though; that probably won’t get you in the good books of many girls, unless they happen to be mercs too.”

Scout sat up a little straighter. This was good stuff; it might actually work. “What sorta standards?”

“Well, don’t go tellin’ them yer intentions right off the bat. That never works. Ever.”

“Wish someone’d told me that before Soldier got to it,” Scout muttered, rubbing the side of his face. The bruise was mostly gone now, but it was still kind of sore—along with his ego.

“Why’d you even listen to anything Solly said anyway?”

“No one else was helping me! You all just laughed!”

Sniper shrugged. “Well, it was pretty funny. Anyway, don’t be such a pompous dick. That doesn’t usually go over well either.”

“I’m not a—!”

“And don’t flirt with every girl you come across, either. That makes you look desperate. There’s got to be a type you like, yeah?”  
Miss Pauling immediately came to mind. “Not really.”

“Nothing? Hair, eyes, body type, personality? Nothing at all that you prefer over something else?” One of Sniper’s eyebrows was arched straight up.

“Er…glasses? I dunno; I like most types I guess.”

“Well, look, when you’re tryin’ to impress a sheila, glasses or no, be polite. Treat ’er like a lady. Talk to ‘er. More importantly, listen to ‘er.”  
Scout pursed his lips, confused. “Listen? T’what?”

“Whatever she wants t’talk about. Bein’ willin’ to listen t’her problems’ll impress her more’n any bravado or ‘war stories’ about the time you beat the RED Demo with nothin’ but a bat an’ a glass of milk—which we all know didn’t happen.”

“Shut up, yes it did!” Scout said defensively.

“Sure, mate,” Sniper sighed, settling back and tugging his hat over his eyes again. “Whatever you say.”  
It was a long ride into town, and Scout didn’t have anything to do but think about what Sniper had said.

***

Teufort only had a few points of interest—a bar, a hotel, a grocery store, a mall, a gas station, and a couple other areas Scout never visited. He was really only interested in the mall, though he avoided the year-round “Visit Santa” area when he could. Sure, they’d beaten Old Nick and become heroes in Teufort, but the idea of a guy whose year-round job is to be Santa for kids was just plain weird.

The group separated with plans to meet back at Engineer’s truck in a couple hours and Scout immediately headed for the mall’s sporting goods store. Half an hour later he left, arms full of bats, balls, and shoes, and a huge grin threatening to split his face in half. Now all he had to do was convince the others to play some ball with him for once and his day would be complete.

He looked around. The mall wasn’t all that busy, but there were still lots of good-looking young women walking about. Scout grinned and scanned the crowd. Time to bring his A-game.

Sauntering around, Scout tried to remember what Sniper had said in the truck. Be polite and don’t flirt with everyone. Sure, no problem. Scout could do polite. He glanced to the side and happened to catch a flash of purple out of the corner of his eye.

No way.

He turned, scanning the crowd for someone specific this time. There was another flash of purple, this time heading into a bookstore. Scout adjusted his hat and followed.

Sure enough, there was Miss Pauling at a shelf near the front, already with two books under her arm and reading the back of a third. Scout grabbed a random book off a nearby shelf and headed towards her. The bookstore was unfamiliar territory, but he was sure he could make this work anyway.

“Yo, Miss P!”

She froze, then looked up warily. Her eyebrows turned up in disappointment, and even though he was upset that she didn’t want to see him there, he couldn’t help but notice that she had a very expressive face (that was really cute, to boot, but then he knew that part already). “What are you doing here, Scout?” she asked. She sounded a bit annoyed and a bit resigned, and a little bit wary as well.

“Engie offered me a ride into town,” he explained. “I thought I’d take the chance to get some more, um…” He looked around. “Y’know. Books.”

Miss Pauling raised an eyebrow, mimicking the expression Sniper had worn earlier. “Really? I didn’t take you for much of a reader.”

“Oh, sure, I read lotsa crap,” Scout boasted. He glanced at the book in his hand. “Real big fan of this…Harper Lee guy.”

“Harper Lee is a woman.”

“Oh. Well, guy, girl, whatever, I like it. Read everything she’s written.”

The eyebrow crept higher. “Not hard, since she’s only written the one book.”

Scout paled and looked at the book he was holding again. To Kill a Mockingbird. “Yeah, that’s why I’ve read all her stuff,” he said. “I’m just…gettin’ my own copy. I had t’use the one in the common area and it’s all ripped and messy and junk so I want a fresh copy.”

“Really.” She studied his face. “So tell me, what kinds of things do you like to read?”

“Uh…” Playboy and Sports Illustrated, mostly, but he couldn’t say that out loud. “Y’know, sports books and whatever. And the classics, of course.”

“And your favourite author?”

“Dickens,” he said immediately. It was the only one he could think of.

That seemed to have piqued her interest. She brightened a little and her eyes lit up. “What did you think of A Christmas Carol?”

Scout had never heard of A Christmas Carol; the only book he could think of by Dickens was Romeo and Juliet. He struggled to think of a response when he remembered something else Sniper had said in the truck. “Talk to her. More importantly, listen to her.”

“Oh, you know, I could go on and on,” Scout said airily, waving the hand that wasn’t holding three bags of sporting goods and a book he’d never heard of. “But I’d rather know what you think, Miss Pauling.”

She looked taken aback. “What?”

“What do you think about A Christmas Carol? And your favourite books and authors. I wanna know.”

The petite brunette launched into a fast-paced tirade about the ups and downs of what she called “Dickens’s opus,” as well as what kinds of romance and mystery novels she liked. It was the most words that Scout had ever heard her say at once and it seemed to go on forever. But hey, if it made her happy to talk about some dusty old relics by (usually) dead guys, then he could listen. He could listen all day if he had to.

Miss Pauling had a very nice voice. It was quiet and unassuming most of the time, but when she was excited, like now, it took on an even more girlish quality than usual, and was very pleasant to listen to. He found himself nodding and agreeing with everything she said, even if he had no idea who Hercule Poirot and Ebeneezer Scrooge (seriously, who names their kid Ebeneezer? Scout thought) were. He might just have to read this Smissmas book.

“And the character development with Scrooge is just excellent, sometimes character development can be forced but Dickens does it so well, you know? Oh, and that part where—”

“There, y’are, mate!”

Scout and Miss Pauling turned to see Sniper coming towards them, looking mildly annoyed. “We were supposed to meet at the truck half an hour ago!” he snapped. Scout grinned a little sheepishly at him. “None a that, let’s just go—oh, hello Miss Pauling.”

Miss Pauling nodded at Sniper. “Hello. Don’t be too hard on Scout, we were talking about books and I guess we just lost track of time.” She looked up at Scout, who was touched that she’d come to his defense at all.

Sniper looked skeptical. “You. Were talking about books. With Scout.”

She nodded. “Well, I suppose I was doing most of the talking.” She turned back to Scout. “I guess we’d both better be going then.”

“Y-yeah, just a minute. Be right back.” He raced to the back of the bookstore and looked around wildly. Spotting a copy of A Christmas Carol, he grabbed it and ran back to the front. “Just picking some stuff up,” he said lamely, feeling like an idiot and hoping Miss Pauling didn’t see what book he’d just picked out. Sniper folded his arms and glared at Scout the entire time he was paying, and Miss Pauling had gone back to looking at her third book by the time he was finished. She looked up as he came back and he flashed her a grin. She smiled back.

“Well, come on, kid, Truckie’n Pyro are waitin’,” Sniper said, turning to go. He tipped his hat to Miss Pauling. “Ma’am.”

Scout did the same, still with his cocky grin. “See ya, Miss P!”

She gave them both a little wave, then headed towards the counter with her books. Scout was beaming the entire way back to the base.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went and reread To Kill a Mockingbird specifically so Scout could read it in this fic. I forgot how much I love it and yet how angry it makes me at the same time.


	5. Ball 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I realize that Scout has the same name as the protagonist of the book he's reading, and I totally planned it that way. Yeah.

The rest of the day flew by compared to the slow, dull pace of the morning. Scout still couldn’t get anyone to play ball with him, so he practiced his swing in the huge empty space behind the fortress, breaking more than a few windows in abandoned barns in the process. He was sure no one would care, though—it wasn’t like they were being used for anything besides shooting out of anyway. When he finished that, he wandered back inside and flopped down on his bed, bored again.

Scout’s gaze wandered over to his purchases from earlier. It was only four p.m., plenty of time before dinner and he wasn’t as hungry as usual anyway. There was plenty of time to try to do a little reading, anyway. He grabbed To Kill a Mockingbird out of the bookstore bag and read the back.

What the hell did I just get myself into? he thought, opening it. It looked like pretty heavy-duty reading, and for a non-reader like Scout that was usually not good.

But he’d told Miss Pauling that he liked it, and if he wanted to keep in her good graces he’d have to at least know what was going on in the damn thing. And besides, the main character’s name was Scout; that had to count for something. Swallowing his pride, he started to read.

Ten minutes later, he threw the book against the wall. What the fuck was going on? Something about broken arms and people named Jem and Dill and Boo Radley. Forget Ebeneezer, who the fuck named their kid “Boo?” And it used weird words like “assuaged.” What did that even mean?! And how did you pronounce it?!  
Reluctantly, he stood up and retrieved the book. Miss Pauling better appreciate this, he thought gloomily, sitting down and starting over.

The more he read, the more of it started to make sense. That didn’t mean he enjoyed it, though. It was way too slow-paced for someone of Scout’s nature, but he persevered through two whole chapters before he glanced at his clock and realised that he was starving.

He hopped up, pleased with himself for reading so much at once, and headed for the kitchen. The others were already there, some eating, some preparing food. Pyro was happily cooking something at the stove, Engineer was chatting with Medic and Heavy off to one side over something lumpy and vaguely food-like while Heavy prepared one of his customary sandwiches, Sniper was trying in vain to get Demoman to consume something besides Scrumpy, Soldier was ranting about the rations during the war and eating soup out of the can, and Spy was simply watching everyone else while stirring a cup of tea. Scout sauntered to the fridge and poked about inside, trying to find something edible that one of his teammates hadn’t claimed already.

He sat down next to Engie with an apple, three cold hot dogs (with buns), and the box of jelly donuts he’d asked Sniper to pick up while he was at the grocery store. Engineer eyed his dinner warily, fork halfway to his mouth. “Son, one of these days your arteries are just gonna quit on you,” he informed Scout as the younger man smothered one of the hot dogs in mustard.

“I don’t quit on nothin’,” Scout boasted, biting off half the hot dog and continuing to talk with his mouth full. “Like I just read a whole two chapters of this mockingbird book and it only took me an hour.”

“Goodness, a whole two chapters in only one hour; truly you are ze speediest reader in ze whole base,” Medic said dryly.

“Oh yeah? An’ what were you doing all afternoon, four-eyes?” Scout shot back, pointing the other half of the hot dog at Medic accusingly.

“A great many things, including re-reading much of Grey’s Anatomy and improving my newest medigun.” Heavy sat down next to Medic with a thud. “And attempting to explain to somevone vhy I should never be disturbed vhile I am vorking!” he added, shooting his friend a look.

Heavy rubbed a lump on the back of his head distractedly and said nothing.

“Actually, about zat arteries problem…” Medic turned back to Scout, who was already wolfing down his third hot dog. “I might have somezing to help. I have recently been experimenting with alternate uses for ze medigun besides repairing bones and muscles and ubercharging and so on. Your eating habits are often like this, yes?” He gestured to the box of donuts.

Scout licked the mustard off his fingers and reached for a donut as Engineer looked on with concern written all over his face. “Yeah, so?”

“Good, zen your arteries ought to be sufficiently clogged. You come to my lab later, I vill see vhat I can do.” Medic finished off his salad, then rose with plate in hand. “Guten nacht, everyone.”

Scout looked at Engineer. “So is Grey’s Anatomy some doctor book?”

The Texan sighed and scooped up his last forkful. “Eat yer donuts.”

***

Scout was starting to get a little faster at reading, and in the hour between when he finished dinner and when he went to Medic’s lab he read three more chapters of Mockingbird. 

It still wasn’t his thing, but hey, there was something about sports at one point. That was something.

He knocked on Medic’s lab door and waited for the German scientist to tell him to enter before he did. Most of the time he just barged right into other people’s rooms—growing up with seven brothers, privacy was a foreign concept—but he’d learned pretty quickly on in his time with Team BLU that that wasn’t a good idea when it came to Medic’s lab.

Medic was standing over a table with mechanical parts strewn about on it. He was scowling between them and the half-finished medigun in his hands. When Scout shut the door behind him, Medic looked up. “Ah, Scout,” he said. “I am currently attempting to make ze required modifications to ze medigun to make it unclog ze subject’s, er, patient’s arteries, thereby leading to a longer, healthier life and so on. However I have run into some…difficulties, so I am reworking ze medigun and it iz taking much longer than I thought it would.”

Scout rocked back and forth on his heels. “So…you don’t need me right now?”

“Actually, a second pair of hands vould be quite useful right now.” He gestured to one of the parts on the table. “If you could just pick zat up and insert it here for me zat should solve everything.”

Warily, Scout approached the table and picked up the indicated piece. He squinted at where Medic was pointing to put it, and managed to maneuver it in so it fit. Then he backed up several steps.

Medic grinned triumphantly at the gun. “Perfect! Now I’ll just switch it on and—”

The next thing Scout knew, he and Medic were waking up in the respawn room. Medic sat up woozily, clutching his head and groaning. “Don’t think it vorked,” he croaked.

“Noticed,” Scout mumbled.

“Note to self: trigger must not go next to power supply,” Medic said.

Scout swung his legs over the side of the respawn table and hauled himself to his feet, steadying himself on the edge of the table. “Let’s never talk about this again.”

“Agreed.”

The two men looked at each other, then burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all. They’d been blown up by a medigun created to unclog arteries. That had to be the dumbest way to die ever (besides the time Scout had died while covered in piss and being stabbed in the back by a Spy disguised as a Pyro wearing a pumpkin on his head while Scout tried to throw milk at the RED Demoman and hit him with a fish). Respawn had made death a fact of life, and therefore something to be joked about and laughed at, and they laughed for a good five minutes.

“Jesus,” Scout snickered, “all I need is for Miss Pauling to French me and my day of shit comin’ outta nowhere will be complete!”

Medic slowly stopped laughing and looked at Scout, confused. “You mean she hasn’t yet?”

Scout’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Uh…no. She kinda, y’know, hit me in the face.”

“Ah, yes, zat.” Medic looked like he was about to start laughing again. “Vell, zese things take time, yes?” He pulled his gloves back up. “Now zen, vhat say ve go fix ze glitches and try again?”

Scout paled and shook his head. “Actually, I was gonna, uh, go read some more. Yeah.”

Medic raised an eyebrow. “Ah, yes, ze ‘mockingbird book’ you vere talking of. Tell me, vhat inspired you to suddenly become interested in literature?”

He folded his arms. “Nothin’.”

“Mm. Und certainly not a girl or anything, no?”

Scout snorted. “Look, Medic, no offense or nothin’, but I’m pretty sure yer the only guy on the base who knows less about girls’n me, so—”

“Less? Less?!” Medic’s eyes sparked with anger and his nostrils flared. “I am ze only von on ze team besides Engineer who is married, dummkopf! I think I know ever so slightly more about romance zan you do!”

Scout’s jaw fell open. “You’re what?!”

“Married, and have been for probably as long as you’ve been alive!”

The younger man squirmed uncomfortably. “But—I always thought—you and Heavy—”

Medic’s look of rage turned quickly to one of disgust. “VHAT?! Zat is—no! NO! Vhy vould you even—”

“Well there was a rumor goin’ around at one point—”

“Who vas spreading zis rumor?” Medic’s eyes were narrowed to tiny slits behind his glasses, hands clenching and unclenching.

Everybody, Scout thought. “Uh, y’know what, never mind. Let’s drop it, okay?” Medic still looked pissed, so Scout quickly changed the subject. “So, your wife.”

“Vhat about her?”

“How’d ya win her over? I mean you had to somehow if you’re married to her.”

Medic sighed and put a hand to his forehead. “First of all, it vas an arranged marriage. I didn’t have to do much ‘winning over,’ as you say.” He removed his glasses and wiped them on his lab coat. “Secondly, I spend much of my time in my lab or avay on business. I do not have time to spend on many romantic gestures, such as ze purchasing of flowers or ze writing of sappy romantic poetry.”

Scout nodded. “Buy flowers and write sappy poetry. Got it.”

“Have you listened to anything I said?”

“Yeah, I just thought those might be things that a girl like Miss Pauling would appreciate,” Scout said defensively. “Ya never know, maybe she goes for that junk.” Medic looked amused again. “Now what?”

“Zo it is Miss Pauling who has caught your fancy,” he said with a smirk. “A certain Heavy Weapons Man owes me ten dollars.”

“Are you guys betting on my love life?!” Scout sputtered incredulously.

“Tell me, are you really planning on writing poetry?” Scout frowned at Medic ignoring his question and started to say something, but the older man cut him off. “Vell, are you?”  
The Bostonian gave up on trying to get an answer out of Medic. “Sure, why not?”

“Alright, regale me.” When Scout looked at him, confused, he sighed and elaborated, “Recite to me ze poetry you would tell to Miss Pauling, and I vill tell you if it is any good.”  
Scout struggled to think of something to say. Poetry had never been something he was good at. “Uh, roses are red—”

“Strike one, try again.”

“What’s wrong with roses are red?!”

“It has been done to death, dummkopf; no one likes to hear it anymore. Try again.”

“Look, I don’t need—”

“Fine, zen don’t write her poetry.”

Scout scowled. “Fine, roses are white, yer dress is purple, something something something, something else that rhymes with purple.”

Medic stared at him for a minute. Finally, he spoke up again. “I am leaving now,” he said quietly. “Do not follow me.”

“Aw, c’mon, I get one more strike!”

“Alright, fine. One more try, zen I go.”

Scout rocked back and forth as he thought. “Their base is red…my base is blue…uh…yer really pretty an’…” He trailed off, embarrassed. “An’ I love you?”

Medic regarded him silently, head tilted slightly. “Better. I hesitate to say ‘good,’ but certainly an improvement.” He patted Scout on the shoulder. “I vould vait on ze poetry for now, however, and perhaps get her some flowers or something instead. Zat alvays vorks for my wife if she is angry with me.” He frowned at the floor. “And she often is,” he added softly.

Scout remembered hearing the RED Demoman shouting something about shagging someone’s wife one time. He’d always assumed it was Engineer, but… “RED Demo?”

Medic’s face hardened and he took his hand off Scout’s shoulder. “Guten nacht, Scout.” He started to go when Heavy’s familiar face poked in the door.

“Ah, Doktor! Scout! There you are!” He came in and clapped a massive hand on Medic’s shoulder. “Ve heard the explosion and found your corpses. Vhen you didn’t come back from respawn right away, I came to find you.”

Medic smiled tiredly up at his friend. “I see. Come, Heavy, let’s go back to ze base.”

“Right! Oh, would you like to see your corpses? Spy took pictures!”

The two of them left, seemingly forgetting Scout, who jogged after them. “Hey, wait for me, chucklenuts!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remembered as I was editing/posting this chapter how much I hate writing phonetic accents, and that that's why I don't write for TF2 much anymore. Dammit Medic.


	6. Strike 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which nothing really gets accomplished but it was important to move the story forward, and in which I make up headcanons about Heavy's love life solely to torment Scout more because I'm an evil wrathmonger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brother gets full credit for Donald and Martha, and also most of Heavy's accent.

Scout pushed soggy cereal around the bowl and frowned at To Kill a Mockingbird. He’d finished another chapter and was starting to have his doubts about the book. There’d been nothing about mockingbirds or killing them at all. Scout was calling false advertising.

He got up and dumped the last of his cereal in the sink, then looked around the mess hall. Only Heavy and Spy were still there. “Anyone wanna toss a ball around?” he asked hopefully.

Spy looked up from what looked like some giant French novel long enough to shake his head. Heavy just shrugged. “I do not think so,” he said.

“Aw, c’mon, big guy, just for a little while,” Scout said, picking up his book. “It’ll be fun. You remember fun, right?”

The large Russian glared at him. “No. Baseball is silly pastime.”

“Yo, it’s my national pastime, dumbass!”

“It involves the tossing of tiny boll at standing person who then heets boll with stick and runs in a circle. Fun times to be had, for certain.” Heavy continued to eat his steak.

Scout threw his hands in the air. “Aw, fuck you guys. I’m outta here.” As he left, an enraged Medic stormed in. All Scout heard was “Heavy, ve need to have words with Spy,” and decided he didn’t really want to know.

He headed for the Team’s makeshift rec room, really just an extra room with random furniture, a rickety bookshelf, a radio, and a television shoved in it, hoping to find someone in there who’d play ball with him. He poked his head in. “Anyone wanna…” His voice trailed off when the only one in there was Pyro. Scout hated to admit it, but Pyro still freaked him out. They’d been teammates for, what, a year now, and Scout still couldn’t get past how empty Pyro’s mask made it look, or how disturbingly ruthless it could be on the battlefield. It was fairly innocent when just hanging around its teammates, but in Scout’s opinion that just served to make it creepier, not to mention the fact that they still weren’t sure whether it was a guy or girl.

Pyro was sitting in front of the television, which was playing a commercial for coffee or soap or something, but it had looked up when Scout came in. “Mffrmn?” it asked.

“Uh, never mind.” Scout looked around, making sure there really wasn’t anyone else there, and Pyro shrugged and went back to watching Batman. “You don’t know where everyone is, do ya?” he asked Pyro.

“Rrfnmn ffnamn.”

“Yeah. Right.” Why the hell did he bother? “Well, later.”

Scout wandered the base’s halls for another half an hour with limited success. He ran into Demo and Sniper, but neither was really interested in playing baseball. Other than that he didn’t see anyone.

Fuck this, then, he thought. He’d resigned himself to another day of playing ball by himself and more mockingbird-book-with-no-mockingbirds-in-it when he thought of something. Medic had said the night before something about flowers. He could go find Miss Pauling some flowers, then sneak into her office and leave them there for her to find on Monday when she got back to work. Genius!

Now all he had to do was find some flowers.

***

An hour later, Scout still hadn’t found any flowers. His best bet at this point was to make flowers out of paper, and he wasn’t that desperate. Yet.

Well, they were out in the Middle of Nowhere, New Mexico. It wasn’t like he could just jog down to the nearest supermarket or anything. He eventually decided to ask Engineer if they could go back into town. At least then there’d be stuff to do, and there had to be somewhere in Teufort to get flowers.

He poked his head into the rec room again. “Anyone seen Engie?”

Pyro was still watching television, but Batman was over and it was watching Star Trek now. It looked up at Scout, shook its head, and went back to watching a guy in a yellow shirt fight a really fake-looking lizard. The room’s other occupant, Heavy, looked up from cleaning his minigun, “Sasha.” “Why do you need Engineer?” he asked.

“I wanna ride into town.”

Heavy frowned. “Weren’t you just in town yesterday?”

“Well, yeah, but I need more stuff.” Scout shrugged nonchalantly. “Unless one a you chucklenuts has a car in yer back pocket.”

Heavy looked at him silently. Scout could almost see gears turning in his head. “Doktor told me of your talk last night,” he said. Then he grinned. “You want to buy flowers. Is that right?”

Scout scowled. “What’s wrong with flowers?! Girls like ‘em, right?”

“Still having trouble with the girlies?” Heavy teased. “Is not like they are different species, you know.”

“Easy fer you t’say,” Scout grumbled, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded. “You ain’t got a girl t’impress.”

Heavy laughed. “I do not feel weemin are important on zis battlefield. Besides…” He paused. “I am already married.”

“WHAT THE HELL, IS EVERYBODY MARRIED BUT ME?!”

Pyro looked up. “Mrrf mn,” it said helpfully.

“I wasn’t counting you,” Scout grumbled. Pyro shrugged and went back to watching the same man cobble stuff together to make a cannon.

“Ah, you are still young!” Heavy said teasingly. He rose from his seat to clap Scout on the back, knocking him to the ground. “You still have plenty time to settle down, find good girl, have leetle babies, and so on.”

Scout wheezed a few times, and when he finally had his wind back, stood up and asked “Do you have kids, Heavy?”

“Ha ha ha yes, in fact. Two girls!” Heavy laughed the biggest laugh Scout had ever heard, which was saying something considering the joy the big lug expressed while shooting people. He then realised what that meant about Heavy’s love life, and decided to push the idea out of his mind before he needed to go find mind soap.

Scout thought of something. “Wait, Doc said last night that he and Engie were the only ones on the Team who’re married. Doesn’t he know?”

Heavy shrugged. “It was never important. And Doktor never asked.”

“Well, how’d ya get…y’know, get her interested?” He knew he’d already asked Medic that, but his response hadn’t exactly helped.

Heavy flexed one bicep and pointed to Sasha. “Have big muscles, have big gun, have big presence,” he explained. “It draws weemen like no other. Of course, impressing ze girl is only ze first part. After that…well, zat depends on ze girl.”

Scout thought about that for a second. “…Can I borrow Sasha for a few hours?”

Heavy laughed loud and uproariously. Then he became very serious. “No. Leetle baby man will find his own gun to tote around.”

Scout wasn’t aware Heavy knew the word ‘tote’ existed. His broken English led many to believe he was as dumb as he looked. They usually ended up riddled with bullet holes. He turned to leave the room, but Heavy stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“One last theeng, Scout,” the giant man said menacingly. “Do not touch Sasha. Ever.”

“I didn’t—”

“I KNOW YOUR FEENGERPRINTS, SCOUT. NEVER. TOUCH. SASHA.” The big Russian looked ready to throttle Scout with his bare hands.

Scout held up his hands placatingly. “Okay, okay, I got it, geez. I’m goin’ already.” He booked it out of the rec room as fast as his feet could carry him.

***

Scout looked over his weaponry, all laid out on his bed. None of his guns (not even the ones on his arms) were particularly huge. As he looked over his collection of melee weapons, he suddenly realised how few of them were actually bats. There was of course The Sandman, and his good old Aluminum bat, but other than those and a couple other bats, there was a frying pan, a fish wrapped in newspaper, wrapping paper, and a Japanese fan. If he added the four bats he’d bought the day before that made eight bats to four non-bats. This was the weirdest job ever.

Muscles first, bigger gun later, he thought, turning away from his weapons and rubbing his bandaged hands together. This is gonna be awesome!

One hour, three push-ups and half a chin-up on the curtain rod later, Scout collapsed on his bed next to his neatly laid out weapons. He was built for speed, dammit, not strength; what the hell had he been thinking?! Operation Be Like Heavy was a total failure.

Maybe he’d go back to the flowers idea. All that involved was getting into town somehow, and that’d be easy if he could find Engineer. Damn Texan seemed harder to pin down than Spy sometimes.

Scout sat up as an idea struck him. Bonk! Atomic Punch had never failed him before! He’d use that to get him to town, buy flowers, and be back in the base before dinner!

I am a genius, he silently crowed, poking about in a box at the back of his closet. He pulled out his baseball hat with two soda cans attached to it. Perfect. Mann Co.’s weird taste in hats could come in handy sometimes.

Jogging around to the back of the base, Scout found an old water cooler and some garden hose and dragged them back to his room. Fifteen minutes later, he’d poured all the  
Punch hidden under his bed into the empty water tank, stuck straps to it to keep it on his back, and attached a hose so that it ran from his mouth into the tank in a feat of engineering that even Engie would be proud of (at least in Scout’s humble opinion). He grabbed his best running shoes and set off down the dusty highway, chugging Atomic Punch the entire way.

***

“Donald, are you sure this speedometer is working properly?”

“Martha, for the last time, yes, it’s working fine. We don’t need to send it in for repairs.”

“That’s what you think. This gizmo reads 40 miles per hour, right?”

“Yes dear. It does indeed.”

“Well then, why is that boy outrunning our car?”

“I…really don’t know. Let’s pretend we never saw it.”

“Good thinking, Donald.”

***

Engineer was going over technical manuals in his room, his usual Sunday activity. It was nice to just relax with a good instruction manual every so often, especially ones you’d written yourself. He chuckled at his messy penmanship. Ah, his teen years, when he’d foolishly tried to craft a portable, pocket-sized radio that had a rechargeable battery and could also make phone calls. That sort of technology would never catch on.

There was a knock at the door. He looked up. “C’mon in.”

It was Pyro. “Phrrfmnff,” it said.

Engineer frowned. “Phone’s fer me? You sure?”

“Mmfhm.”

The Texan hauled himself off his bed. “Strange…no one ever calls me. And I just talked to Jenny and the kids yesterday.” Pyro shrugged and trotted behind Engie to the one phone in the base that was capable of receiving calls not from the Administrator and BLU headquarters.

Soldier was barking abuse into it. “…Listen here, private, if I ever hear about you turnin’ an’ runnin’ out on BLU again I’ll have my plants tear you apart, I’ve been raisin’ them t’be attack plants, that’s why I been feedin’ them nothin’ but raisins and filtered—”

“Solly, why don’t you let me talk to whoever it is,” Engineer interrupted calmly.

It was hard to tell beneath the helmet, but he was pretty sure Soldier was glaring at him. “I’d rather be chased down by wild pigs and forced to tango with goddamn Spider-Man!” 

Engineer drummed his fingers on his crossed arms and glared up at him. Soldier sighed. “A’right, fine, but you’d better chew ‘im out good’n proper!” He threw the phone at Engie, who fumbled with it before putting it to his ear.

“—And just cuz yer supposed t’be some kinda war hero don’t give you the right to just barge in on other people’s conversations!” Scout sounded just as angry as Soldier.

“Scout? Son, is that you?”

“Who’s it sound like, smartass?”

“Where are ya?”

“Oh, hey, izzat Engie? Hey, man, you gotta come get me, I’m stuck in Teufort!”

Engineer frowned and rubbed his bald head absently. “How’d you get to—” His frown deepened. “If you stole my truck—”

“No way, man, I got here on the power of punch! Bonk! Atomic Punch! Stuff’s awesome! ‘Cept now I’m outta punch and I spent all my money on flowers so I can’t buy more or get a taxi to come home so I’m stuck here. Can you come get me?”

Engie pinched the bridge of his nose. “You spent all yer money…on flowers. And drank alla yer fancy energy drink. D’you have any idea how angry the Administrator will be when she finds out?”

“Aw, the Administrator don’t care what we spend our money on s’long as we do our jobs right. Look, can ya get me or not?”

“Fine, I’ll come get ya. Meet me in front of the mall.”

“Thanks, Hardhat.” Scout sounded relieved. “I owe ya one.”

“Six,” Engie muttered as he hung up. “But who’s countin’?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I ship Heavy/Medic with a burning passion, but I wanted to make things worse for Scout because I like being mean to characters I like. I'm not sorry.
> 
> Also, what is science? I don't science.


	7. Foul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pyro makes no sense as usual and fluff happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I headcanon that Engineer is the only one who has any idea what Pyro says.

Miss Pauling shrugged off her overcoat and hung it on a hook on the wall next to the office’s door. It was raining in Teufort and the surrounding area, a rare occurrence, but a welcomed one as it broke some of the heat and dust. Unfortunately, it also made the area around the base and office muddy and unpleasant to traverse, and she’d had to bring an extra pair of shoes to change into.

She was in the middle of changing them when she finally noticed the flowers on her desk that had definitely not been there when she’d left work the night before. She frowned at them, guessing rather quickly where they’d come from. They were stuck rather haphazardly in a Mason jar with an inch of water in the bottom and leaning to one side. Some of them were half-wilted, but they were still quite pretty. Miss Pauling felt a smile tug at her lips as she reached for them, rearranging them so they weren’t quite so lopsided. She didn’t know what kind they were (and she was pretty sure the BLU Scout who’d put them there didn’t either), but she did notice he’d picked only blue and purple ones.

“Idiot,” she muttered with a sigh. But she went to get some more water for them anyway.

***

The first thing Scout had wanted to do after the day’s battle was go talk to Miss Pauling and see what she’d done with his flowers and if she was finally ready to go out with him, but he was hot and sweaty and soaked and covered in blood, piss, mud, and milk. Considering that she’d gotten on his case about not showering once before, he decided a shower was in order before going to talk to her.

A quick shower and change of clothes later and Scout was on his way to Miss Pauling’s office. He was wearing his best shirt and had ditched the headset in an effort to look more casual (but still like his awesome self). He’d considered going hatless, but he couldn’t get his hair to sit right so he left it on. He didn’t bother with an umbrella even though it was still raining, partly because he couldn’t be arsed to go find one, partly because he didn’t think anyone in the base owned one.

“Mrrfmf?”

Scout froze and turned to see Pyro standing behind him. Its head was tilted slightly and it seemed to be looking right at him, though with Pyro it was hard to tell. “Mrrfmf?” it said again.

“Uh…I’m just goin’ to the office,” he said warily. Pyro tilted its head more and said something else. “Look, Pyro, I got no idea—”

“Mrrf mrf, mrf mrrfnmrf!” Pyro said enthusiastically, waving its arms and pantomiming carrying an umbrella.

“I ain’t got an umbrella, no.”

Pyro held up one finger, then jogged off down the hallway. Against his better judgement, Scout waited. A couple other team members passed him. Sniper gave him a quizzical look, and Scout just shrugged. Finally Pyro came hurrying back with Engineer in tow, holding a large black umbrella. Engie handed it to Scout. “Pyro said y’all needed this,” he  
said.

“Thanks,” said Scout, taking it from him. Pyro was talking and waving its arms again. When it finished, Scout looked to Engineer for clarification.

“Pyro thinks y’all should offer t’walk Miss Pauling to her car,” he explained.

Scout looked at the umbrella in his hand, then back at Pyro. “That’s…actually, that’s a really good plan. Thanks, Pyro.”

“Mrrfmncm!” Pyro mumbled cheerfully. It then started off on a tangent about something or other, making obscure motions with its hands and occasionally bouncing on the spot. 

Then it clapped Scout on the shoulder, nodded twice at Engineer, and ran off deeper into the base.

Scout stared after it. “Hey, Tex, yer the only one who understands anythin’ that thing says. What the hell was that all about?”

The short man smiled knowingly and walked off, hands in his oversized pockets. “I can’t tell y’all; that would ruin the surprise.”

***

Miss Pauling stood and brushed off her crisp black pants and purple blouse. Another work day over—at least for the mercs. She still had at least three more sheets of paperwork to fill out and file, then she could go home. She turned to the filing cabinet next to her desk and opened the top drawer, pulling out the paperwork. It’d only take a few minutes, she was sure. Then, unless the Administrator had any more meaningless tasks that she didn’t want to do to shove onto Miss Pauling, she could go home.

The door opened, and Miss Pauling sighed and closed the drawer. “Yes, Administrator?” she asked as she turned around.

Standing in the doorway, however, was none other than the BLU Scout. She gave a small yelp of surprise and held the papers in front of her protectively. Then she glared at him. 

“Scout! What are you doing here?! Do you have any idea how many rules you’re breaking right now? The Administrator will be furious if she finds out you were in my office, if she doesn’t know already!”

“Well—”

“And you’re creating even more work for me, you know!” She waved one of her papers at him. “How could you drink your entire supply of Bonk! Atomic Punch?! You only got a new case last week; it should’ve lasted at least—”

“But I had to get to town,” Scout said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“Then get a car and a driver’s licence!”

“Aw, you know I ain’t got enough money fer that, Miss P.,” Scout said, before he remembered his multi-thousand dollar paycheck from last month. Oops. “‘Sides, even if I did I’d rather spend it on flowers an’ stuff fer you.” He pointed to the ‘vase’ of flowers on her desk. “Hey, did you put more water in ‘em?”

She looked away, embarrassed for some reason. “Well, I had to or they would’ve wilted.” She glanced at Scout, who was grinning like an idiot, and noticed he was holding an umbrella and was relatively dry and put-together. “What are you doing here, anyway?” she asked, more out of politeness than interest she told herself.

“Oh, yeah.” He stayed where he was as she went back to her desk and started quickly and expertly filling in one of the forms. “Well, it’s still rainin’ out, an’ it’s quittin’ time.”

“I’m aware of both of those things, Scout. I’ll be going home in a minute; I just need to fill these out first.”

“Then I’ll wait for ya.” She twisted in her chair to look at him again, confused. He was still grinning at her. “I figured I’d come walk ya to yer car. Didn’t think you had an umbrella.”

Scout was lying through his teeth, of course, and Miss Pauling knew it—he didn’t own an umbrella, and the one he was holding was unmistakably the Engineer’s handiwork. No other umbrella in the world had a built-in laser/cigarette lighter. This had likely been one of his teammate’s ideas.

Still, it was kind of sweet, if misguided.

“I don’t have an umbrella, no,” she admitted, turning back to her desk. “But I can manage. I won’t melt in the rain, you know, and I did get inside alright this morning.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t rainin’ as hard this mornin’. C’mon, Miss Pauling, it’s just to yer car. I promise not t’bite—if ya don’t want me to, of course.” She didn’t have to turn around again to know he was wiggling his eyebrows at her.

She signed the last sheet and set it aside, then swivelled her chair to face him and looked up at him thoughtfully. Well, he had been making a definite effort to make up for being such a rude bastard on Thursday. And he’d bought her flowers. Maybe she’d throw him a bone, albeit a small one.

“Alright,” she conceded, standing up. “But you have to tell me why you used up all your Atomic Punch yesterday.”

Scout let out a loud whoop and moved aside so she could get her coat and change her shoes. “Actually, I used up alla my punch runnin’ into town to buy ya those flowers.” He pointed as though he was worried she wasn’t sure which flowers he meant.

She stared up at him from where she was exchanging shoes. “It couldn’t have waited?”

“Well Medic said—” He stopped himself and Miss Pauling bit her lip to keep from laughing. Had he been asking the rest of the team for advice about her? That was almost sweet. 

“Uh, I mean I’d do anything for you, Miss P! Even run sixteen miles into Teufort just to buy you flowers! I’ve got real impressive leg strength, ya know.” He stood taller, his chest puffed out even more than usual.

When she stood, she realised how uncomfortably close they’d been standing, and quickly ushered him out of her office before her face turned too red. He continued chattering away at her as she locked up. “I’ve been doing strength trainin’ lately, too,” he bragged, flexing one arm. The resulting bicep was unimpressive.

She must have looked as bored as she felt, because he hurriedly changed the subject. “So what do ya do fer fun, Miss Pauling?”

“Well, I read a lot.” By this time they’d reached the door, and Scout pushed it open so he could open the umbrella outside. “I talk to my friends, listen to the radio, sometimes go see a movie or gun show or two. The usual.”

Scout held the umbrella out for her and she stepped under it. He held it fairly steady and she was pleasantly surprised at how dry she was staying. “You have friends? Um, I mean, do ya like baseball at all?” he asked casually as she led the way to her car—a beat-up, rusty old lemon that she’d inherited from her parents when she’d moved out three years ago.

Amused, Miss Pauling looked up at him. He was facing forward, but was looking at her from the corner of his eye, anxiously anticipating her reaction. “It’s…well, I find soccer easier to follow, but I suppose I like baseball,” she said slowly. Scout was making such an effort to be nice that she didn’t want to hurt his feelings by insulting his favourite sport.

“Baseball’s not hard t’follow!” he said, a hint of surprise in his voice. “One a these days I’ll take ya to a game and show ya how it’s scored!”

Miss Pauling stopped, and Scout jerked to a halt. “Are you asking me on a date, Scout?” she asked.

“…Not if you don’t want me to.”

She started walking again, tight-lipped. He hurried to keep her relatively dry. A bandage-wrapped hand suddenly enveloped her right hand, and she glanced sharply up at him. Scout looked nervous, and she noticed that his right side was soaked from sticking out of the umbrella’s cover and that his bare arms were covered in goose bumps. She decided to let it slide.

They finally reached Miss Pauling’s car, which she unlocked and got into while Scout continued doing his best to keep her dry. With a smile and a “Good night, Scout,” she closed the door.

Scout continued to stand there awkwardly, looking conflicted. As she struggled with the sticky ignition, he motioned for her to roll down the window. When the engine finally turned over, she complied. His umbrella kept most of the rain out of the car.

After several false starts, Scout sputtered out, “Th-their base is red, my base is blue, yer real pretty, an’ I…” He trailed off, then took a deep breath and said “an’ I love you” very fast.

Miss Pauling sat there stunned for a moment, then Scout, whose face was doing an excellent impression of a ripening tomato, said “See ya tomorrow, Miss Pauling” and ran off towards the base. With him gone, the rain started invading her car and she quickly rolled up the window. Backing out of her parking space, she caught a glimpse of herself in the rear-view mirror and noticed that she was as red as he’d been.

“Stop that,” she reprimanded herself. But she wore a smile all the way home.

***

God DAMMIT I’m an idiot!

Scout had dumped his hat and Engineer’s umbrella on his bed was trying to hit his head on his bedroom wall as quietly as possible. It wasn’t working, though, because Sniper kept poking his head in to make sure he hadn’t knocked himself out. He felt like a moron. It’d been going so well! He’d even managed to ask her out on a date (totally by accident, but he’d covered it up well) and they’d held hands and everything! But then he’d had to go and screw it up and recite that stupid poem he’d come up with and now she’d never talk to him again because she thought he was an idiot. FUCK why did he have to be such a dumbass sometimes?

If Scout was honest with himself, he had no idea how to handle women. He’d had a handful of girlfriends in high school and between then and his job at BLU, but they’d never lasted very long—probably, he could recognize now, because he had no idea how to sustain a relationship. It wasn’t like he didn’t have people to ask for advice, he had seven brothers (and his ma, if he was really desperate), but he was too arrogant to ask. He’d finally gotten up the nerve to start asking people once Soldier had “helped” him, but Miss Pauling was different from those other girls. She was special. He didn’t want to screw this up—and yet he had anyway.

Scout hit his head against the wall again, but left it there this time. He didn’t like how he was thinking. His inner voice sounded like a pansy. A freakin’ girly pansy. “Cut it the fuck out,” he muttered to himself. “Yer a man, dammit, so start actin’ like one!”

“Ya know,” an Australian-accented voice said from the doorway, “talkin’ to yerself is supposed t’be the first sign of goin’ nuts.”

“Fuck you too, Legs,” Scout muttered without looking up.

“Jes’ thought you’d like t’know that Truckie said Pyro had a surprise for ya. Wouldn’t say what, though. So get yer head outta yer arse and go see what they want before ya give yerself a concussion.”

“I said fuck you.”

The door closed and Scout pulled himself away from the wall. He was dizzy and his head hurt and he still felt like a moron. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Pyro’s surprise was, but he didn’t want it to come find him if he didn’t show up for it either. He resigned himself to going to see what it wanted.

Come to think of it, Sniper hadn’t said where Pyro was, had he?

A small explosion rocked the base, knocking Scout off his feet. He scrambled up again and grabbed his Sandman, running out into the hall. “What happened?!” he asked Sniper, who was stumbling out of the spare bedroom he occasionally used.

“Dunno, mate.” Demoman went running by. “Demo, what’s going on?”

“It’s me old enemy Nessie! She dun followed me from bonnae Scotland!” He continued running in the direction of the armory. “An’ me wivout me fire hydrant!”

Scout and Sniper stared after him. “Well that was no help,” Sniper commented. “C’mon, let’s find out what happened.” They headed in the direction of the explosion.  
As they passed the rec room, they heard a loud thud from inside. Scout cautiously opened the door in time to see the bookshelf tipped over and two sheep and a cake go flying past the window. Medic was cursing in German on the floor, one of his thick medical journals resting comically on his head. Scout closed the door again quietly.

“Wot is it?” asked Sniper.

“I…yeah I have no idea.”

“Hey, Scout!”

Engineer and Pyro came hurrying down the hall towards them. “There y’are,” Engineer panted, hands on his knees. “Pyro had a surprise fer ya, but it sorta…combusted.” Pyro dug its toe into the ground, its body language looking sheepish. “We talked about this, son,” Engie said quietly to it. “Flamethrower stays out of the kitchen.”

“Uh…that’s real nice of ya, Pyro,” Scout said slowly, “but what for? An’ what sorta surprise involves flamethrowers, kitchens, Nessie, two sheep, and a cake?”  
Sniper stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Two sheep and a cake went flyin’ past the rec room window a minute ago,” he explained. The German cursing grew louder. 

“An’ Medic’s in there with a book on his head.”

Pyro looked at Engineer, then burst into muffled laughter. Engie just chuckled. “Well, that’s certainly a surprise.”

“Understatement o’ the year, Truckie.”

“Well what was supposed t’ happen?”

Engineer started to say something, but Pyro tugged his sleeve and said something. He nodded. “I agree. Yer surprise sounds more interestin’ than ours.”

“Wait, so yer not gonna tell me what’s going on?! That’s freakin’ stupid!”

Pyro reached out and ruffled Scout’s hair affectionately, Scout willing himself not to flinch. “Mrrf mf,” it said kindly. “Mffrm mffmnf.”

Scout looked up at Sniper, who shrugged, and at Engineer, who smiled and nodded. He reached out and gingerly patted Pyro’s shoulder. “Uh, thanks.”

Later that night, after Pyro had cleaned up from its “surprise” and Medic and Soldier had given everyone involved a good cussing out, Scout lay in bed, thinking. Maybe he was being pessimistic. Maybe Miss Pauling didn’t think his poem was stupid. Maybe Pyro’s surprise had been just enough of the Team’s usual brand of insanity to get him back to being his old self again and in no time he’d be charming the pants off Miss Pauling. Maybe if he went to talk to her again tomorrow things would be okay—hell, maybe she actually thought his efforts were sweet and romantic and she’d finally agree to go out with him.

And maybe Soldier will take up knitting, he thought gloomily as he rolled over and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scout walked into the kitchen the next morning to find Sniper teaching Soldier how to knit something pink and fluffy-looking.


	8. Grounder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a bone is thrown, Spy takes an uncharacteristic interest in Scout's love life, and my Professor Layton is showing.

Spy was missing all the next day during the battle, and when Scout returned to the base and entered the mess hall afterwards he was presented with the reason why. He was hanging by his ankles from the ceiling, cigarette in his mouth and a small pile of ashes on the table beneath him. He wore a very sour expression while Sniper sat in a chair nearby, nearly hyperventilating with laughter. Engineer was trying to cut him down without dropping him on his head.

“Oh, Scout. Come over here and catch Spy for me, wouldja?” Engineer asked.

Scout grinned, the gloominess that had been following him around since the night before slowly dissipating at the sight of Spy in pain. “What happened t’you, Frenchie?” he asked, walking over to grab Spy’s shoulders as Engineer sawed at the rope holding him up with a pocketknife.

“I had a…disagreement with ze Medic over some photographs I took of his corpse. His large friend did not appreciate it.” The rope broke, and Spy collapsed onto the table, Scout holding him so his head escaped most of the damage. “Merci.”

“Yeah, no prob—” Wait a second. Medic…corpse…photos…

“Would you like to see your corpses? Spy took pictures!”

Scout dropped Spy’s upper body onto the table with a thud. “You better not’ve had any pics of me in there!”

Spy sat up, glaring at Scout and rubbing the back of his head where it had hit the table. “I assure you, child, zat all ze photos and zeir negatives were destroyed. Ze Medic made sure of zat. Paranoid German.”

“Yer one t’talk, mate,” Sniper laughed. “If Pyro so much’s looks at its flamethrower ya pitch a fit.”

“I do not—!” Spy pinched the bridge of his nose. “A precautionary measure only. Pyros and Spies ‘ave never been on ze best of terms.”

Still annoyed, Scout turned away from the table and opened the fridge. “Fuckin’ spooks,” he grumbled, grabbing several things from the fridge at random.

“Do not be so uptight,” Spy said, climbing off the table, “as I said, zey were all destroyed.” He brushed off his suit. “You are going to end up shaped like ze Heavy at zis rate,” he commented, raising an eyebrow at Scout’s findings.

Scout looked at the things he’d pulled from the fridge. Two cartons of orange juice, a slightly blackened pork chop, a loaf of bread, his box of jelly donuts, and half a squashed cake. “I’m a runner,” he said defensively. “I need carbs.”

“Mm.” Spy turned away, still fixing his jacket cuffs. Sniper was still grinning into his coffee cup, and Spy fixed him with a withering glare that did nothing. “You should be careful,” he said over his shoulder to Scout. “If you lose your, ah, ‘good looks,’ how will you impress ze ladies? I know zat iz your primary concern, after all.”

Scout had flinched at the mention of women. “Lay offa him, Spy,” Engineer said. “He’s had a rough time of it lately.”

“Not just lately, one presumes,” Spy murmured.

“What, you wanna fight, smartass?” Scout snapped, dumping his food on the counter and balling his hands into fists. “Let’s go, right now!”

“Hush, child, I have no wish to fight at ze moment.”

“I’m not a kid! I’m twenty-freakin’-one, y’asshole!”

“Zen start acting like it!” Spy turned back to him, eyes narrowed. “What is zis moping about ze base, hitting your head on ze wall?” He wiped away a pretend tear. “Oh, ze radient Miss Pauling, she does not love me!” he whined in an obnoxiously high-pitched Boston accent. “Act like ze man you want so badly to be!”

Scout chucked a donut at the other man’s head and missed. “Fuck you,” he snapped. “Not like you got anythin’ t’ worry ‘bout, being Mister French Ladies Jackass an’ all! You ain’t got no idea what yer talkin’ about!”

Spy snorted and turned away again. “If you had wanted help with ze womenfolk, you could have just said somezing. Zis boyish posturing and shouting was completely unnecessary.”

Truth be told, Scout had figured Spy would have the best advice for him from the beginning, but had avoided going to him. He felt uncomfortable around Spy, more so than usual lately. It was a combination of learning that the RED Spy was sleeping with his mother (true, BLU Spy wasn’t RED Spy but it was still weird and awkward) and the fact that ever since he’d made the mistake of letting Soldier drag him off to see some Psycho movie he’d had more than a little wariness concerning showers, knives, and, most prominently, Spy and his backstab technique.

That and the fact that Spy was a complete bastard whose favourite hobby seemed to be pissing off his teammates.

“Fellas,” Engie said calmly, standing up with his hands held up in a placating manner, “this don’t need to get ugly. Spy, I’m sure if Scout wanted help he woulda said somethin’. An’  
Scout, try not ta swear so much.” He glanced at Sniper. “An’ you quit laughin’. This ain’t funny.”

An awkward silence followed. Scout was still glaring a hole in the back of Spy’s head, and Spy was still absently picking bits of imagined dirt off his suit jacket. Finally Scout looked away. “Whatever, Hardhat,” he muttered. He picked up his food and started to stomp off when Spy’s voice stopped him.

“Try being a gentleman,” he said quietly. Scout glanced back at him. Spy was smirking at him. “Zat always works for zis ‘French Ladies Jackass.’ And never apologise—especially for something zat was not a problem in ze first place.”

How much did Spy actually know about his talk with Miss Pauling the night before? Had he been spying on him?! Or did he just know through some special secret spy power?

Or was he just pulling stuff out of his ass to mess with Scout?

For once Scout had nothing to say. He just turned and stalked out of the mess hall.

***

It was Chapter 10 of To Kill a Mockingbird before mockingbirds were even mentioned, and Scout was pretty sure that they weren’t really talking about mockingbirds. Oh great, he’d had to pick up a book full of allegory and shit. He looked at his clock and nearly jumped out of his skin when he realised how late it was. He’d been reading for nearly two hours and it was already nine. Still way too early to go to bed, but late enough that he could stop reading and go do something interesting. Maybe there was something on TV.

He hauled himself off his bed (dammit, his leg had fallen asleep) and limped down the hall towards the rec room. No one else was inside; apparently everyone else was either in their rooms, in the mess hall, or out having a bonfire or something. He looked out the window and saw that a light was still on in the BLU office building way in the distance. Was someone still in there? What the hell would someone still be working at the office for? The Team was done for the day.

Not for the first time, Scout was glad that he was the one who got to go bash people’s skulls in instead of working behind a desk all day.

“I believe zat light is from Miss Pauling’s office, is it not?”

Scout yelled in surprise and whirled to see Spy behind him, lighting a fresh cigarette. “Of course, I could be wrong, though I rarely am,” he continued. “But if it is her office, it seems a shame zat such a pretty young thing is wasting away in there all by her lonesome, working ridiculous hours. I do hope her pay is as good as ours.”

“The hell do you want?”

“Nothing. Must I always want something?” He took in a long drag on the thin cigarette and exhaled, blowing smoke everywhere. Scout coughed. “If I were you, however,” he finally continued, “I would not wait much longer to speak with her. Correspondence, daily if possible, is ze key to a stable relationship.”

Scout looked back out at the office and its tiny light. “She thinks I’m an idiot,” he muttered dejectedly.

“And she is correct.”

“Hey!”

“But I do not think zat is ze whole picture. Go, be a gentleman to her. I think you will find it will get you farther than certain other tactics you have tried.”

Scout absently rubbed the left side of his face. “Why’re you helpin’ me?” he asked warily. “What’s in it fer you?”

Spy pretended to look affronted. “Can I not be interested in my teammates?” Scout folded his arms and frowned at him, and he sighed. “Very well. Your little romance is providing so much entertainment for our little band of killers. I should like to make certain it ends properly.” He gave Scout a wan smile. “A demain,” he said, and walked out.

The lanky young man stayed where he was for a minute, looking between the window and the rec room door. Then he bolted from the room and charged down the hallway.

***

Scout had never been to the office building at night. It was generally frowned upon for the mercs to be in places they weren’t supposed to be, but Scout had never paid too much attention to that and came and went from the office as he pleased, but he didn’t really go there unless he knew Miss Pauling was there. She was the only thing worth going to the office for, after all—there weren’t any other cute young female employees there and he’d once gotten roped into delivering notes around the office for an hour before he managed to escape.

He’d only had time to grab a banana and a light jacket before heading to the office (it was cool outside at night), and he was still tugging at the zipper as he approached the door. 

He fully expected it to be locked even with someone still working, what with the Administrator’s paranoia, but to his surprise it opened easily and he trotted down the hall unhindered.

Scout opened the door of Miss Pauling’s office gently. It squeaked anyway. “Hey, Miss P,” he said quietly. “I—”

He stopped short at the sight of the young woman asleep at her desk. Her hair was starting to come out of her usual bun and her glasses were slipping off her face. She was resting her head on her arms and breathing so softly and slowly that for a heart-stopping moment Scout wasn’t sure she was breathing at all.

Miss Pauling looked…well, she looked peaceful. Not happy or content, just peaceful, as though sleep was the one time she could really relax and not have to worry about the bloody business she was associated with. Scout wondered if she was actually done her work or if she’d just decided to take a break and fallen asleep. Either way, he didn’t want to wake her. If she was this tired there was no way she could get herself home or concentrate on her work anyway.

Scout put the banana on the desk and took off his jacket. He draped it across Miss Pauling’s shoulders carefully, doing his best not to disturb her, and removed her glasses and set them aside just as carefully. Then he searched her desk for a blank piece of paper. Upon finding one, he scribbled a hasty note and set it against the Mason jar that he noticed still had his flowers in it, then flicked off the light and left the office, closing the door behind him.

It was chilly on the way back to the base, but Scout didn’t care. That’d been a display of gentlemanliness that even Spy would be proud of, he was sure, and besides he could run  
to keep warm.

He wore a goofier grin than usual for the rest of the night.

***

When Miss Pauling woke up, she was stiff and tired. Her first coherent thought was What time is it? Shortly after she realised she was in a chair, not her bed, and it was dark, and her arms were asleep, and her glasses were missing. She had to wait for her arms to wake up even as panic started to set in. Where was she? What was going on? Her arms started to come painfully back to life and she groped blindly for something, anything, to let her know she was in familiar surroundings. Her hand found her glasses and she jammed them on her face.

Her surroundings started to take shape around her, and she finally realised she was in her office. She groaned. Had she fallen asleep at her desk again? Hopefully she’d at least finished her paperwork before her unplanned nap.

Miss Pauling got unsteadily to her feet and groped for the light switch. Flicking it on, she squinted at her desk. Yes, her paperwork was done. The clock on the wall indicated it was around three in the morning. Good—she still had time to get home and get a few hours of sleep in a decent bed.

Only then did she realise there was a lightweight blue windbreaker wrapped around her shoulders and a note next to her flowers and a banana. She smiled, having a pretty good idea of who had brought them. Then she frowned. Hadn’t she said the night before that he wasn’t supposed to be in her office? He’d blatantly disregarded the rules again and could be making even more trouble for her that she really didn’t want to have to go through.

Still, she thought as she gripped the jacket around her a little tighter, it was kind of sweet of him.

She picked up the note. Scout’s handwriting was terrible, but she’d had a worse time trying to read the Administrator’s, or even on rare and unfortunate occasions the Medic’s. 

There were several spots where he’d scratched out a word and written another instead, no doubt in an attempt to sound more debonair.

_~~Hey~~ Dear Miss Pauling,_

_By the time you get this it’ll probably be tomorrow morning but I didn’t want to wake you. You looked like you needed the sleep. Has anyone ever told you you’re real ~~pretty~~ ~~sweet-looking~~ cute when you’re asleep? ~~Cuz~~ Because you are. I thought you should know._

_Anyway, I figured you’d be hungry when you woke up so I brought you a snack. It’s not much, but maybe it’ll tide you over until you can get something else. Bananas are a real good source of energy ~~and stuff~~ you know. And you looked cold so I left you my coat, too._

_I’m going to come by after work tomorrow (don’t worry, I’ll shower and change first) to make sure you don’t fall asleep again. It’s my duty as a gentleman to look after a lady’s welfare after all. ~~And I need my jacket back~~ I suppose I need to collect my jacket, but if you really want to keep it that’s okay too._

_So I’ll see you then. I’m looking forward to seeing your ~~pretty~~ ~~lovely~~ pretty face again._

_~~From~~ _

_~~Ever yours~~ _

_Love_

_Scout_

Miss Pauling smiled and shook her head again, rereading the note and pocketing it. It was rather charming, in a way, the way he was trying so hard to impress her and not be his usual loud, rude, self-absorbed self. She pulled his jacket on properly and gathered up her things, turning off the light and locking the door behind her.

She couldn’t believe it, but she was almost looking forward to seeing Scout again, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a.k.a. In which Ed bothers to put in italics for once.


	9. First Base

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I solidify Scout/Pauling as my TF2 OTP forever and Scout has a bit of an identity crisis.

Scout ducked a bullet and pushed as hard as he could against the BLU cart, silently willing it to move faster. Usually it was Heavy’s job to push the cart, being the strongest on the team, but RED had a bomb cart today as well and Heavy had taken Medic to go deal with it. Unfortunately RED had had a similar idea and had sent their Sniper and Scout to give the BLU Team hell while they did their damndest to push the bomb deeper into RED territory. Scout had to use the live bomb as cover as he pushed, and though he didn’t think that was the best plan it was the only one he could come up with under the circumstances.

At the moment he was the only one pushing the cart. Heavy and Medic were attacking the REDs, Soldier had rocket-jumped off somewhere and was probably wreaking havoc on the RED Engineer, Pyro was helping out Engineer and keeping an eye out for the RED Spy, Sniper was probably camping God-knew-where, Spy was off doing spy things, and Demoman had just been sent to respawn by the RED Sniper. Scout really hated this part of his job. He was supposed to be doing recon, not trying to push bombs twice his weight up hills. This had not been part of the job description!

A cry of pain pierced his cloud of complaints and he looked up to see the RED Sniper clutching his face. The BLU Spy had apparently been trying to backstab him and missed. Scout had to keep pushing the cart and missed how the fight went, but he hoped Spy gave the Sniper a good beating. He’d been shooting at Scout the entire time and was the whole reason he was pushing the cart without any help.

A familiar cry of “FRAEEEDOOOOM!” met his ears, and he grinned as he turned to see Demoman charging towards him, Pyro, Heavy, and Medic in tow. “We slowed RED cart!” Heavy declared, grabbing the bomb and giving a shove. “Now we must push leetle cart!”

Scout let out a whoop and started to push again—

And woke up in respawn, a nasty headache brewing. “Fuck,” he muttered, pushing himself up. His headache meant he’d probably been headshot. He’d stood still for too long. Freakin’ Sniper must’ve gotten the better of their Spy. That didn’t usually happen, and Scout would’ve been impressed if it hadn’t led to him getting shot in the head.

As he started to regain his strength, he found that the pent-up nervous energy that had been bothering him all day was returning with it. He sighed. He still didn’t know how Miss Pauling had felt about his poem and now he’d given her his jacket, too. And he’d gone and told her that he would definitely be going to see her after work that day and that he was “looking forward to seeing her pretty face again,” an encounter he wasn’t sure he was prepared for or that he could act natural during and dammit it was so much easier before when all he did was flirt with whatever pretty face crossed his path. Flirting he could do. It was the nitty gritty stuff that he had a hard time with. The whole thing was driving him to distraction and he simultaneously wanted to crawl into a hole and run around the battlefield screaming.

Scout’s Sandman, scattergun, and Pretty Boy’s Pocket Pistol were lying on the table next to him. He snatched them up and headed for the fight again. Screw the cart; the guys were probably doing fine without him anyway. He was going to go try to set a new personal record for heads batted in. Maybe that’d take his mind off Miss Pauling and the coming night.

***

His hair wasn’t sitting right again.

Scout glared at his reflection and tried to make his hair lie flat. It was still wet from his shower but didn’t seem to want to cooperate without the use of a hairbrush. Scout had lost his the other day but hadn’t really worried about it too much (next time someone was going into town he could get one), but he wanted to look good tonight. Well, better than usual, anyway. He always looked good.

After finally managing to finger-comb his hair into submission, he brushed his teeth for the third time and left the base’s restroom. He was nervous. Scout never got nervous. He didn’t get nervous on the battlefield, charging in with bat swinging and shouting abuse at enemies. He never used to get nervous when chatting up the ladies. And he definitely didn’t get nervous around Miss Pauling, because, well, when you got right down to it, she was just another girl, and that was all. Nothing to get nervous over at all.

Except that it was, tonight at any rate. Scout had a definite Plan for how he wanted things to go and had rehearsed his opening lines in his head several times. _Look Miss Pauling, I think you should give me one more chance. Let me take you out this weekend. You won’t regret it, I swear, and I won’t try anything funny if you don’t want me to—_

Okay maybe he’d get rid of that last bit.

_You won’t regret it. It’ll be great! And if for some reason you do regret it then I promise I won’t bother you anymore._

That was going to be the hard part.

He’d reached his bedroom by this point and forced himself to take a deep breath and run through the Plan again. It would be fine. He could do this. And before the night was through, this whole thing with Miss Pauling would be settled once and for all.

There was a knock at the door as Scout was deciding whether to continue with his casual look or dress up a little. “Yeah,” he called, not looking up from the shirts on his bed. 

“C’mon in.”

The door opened and Engineer entered. “H’llo, Scout,” he said pleasantly. “Word around the base is that yer goin’ to the office again tonight.”

Scout looked at him, confused. “How do—?”

“Not sure who started talkin’ ‘bout it, but I’d bet money it was Spy.” Scout snorted; it was certainly a Spy thing to do. “Well, if’n yer goin’ there, could I getcha to drop somethin’ off fer me?” He held out a large brown envelope. “New designs,” he explained as Scout took it. “I need to get ‘em approved before I can start using ‘em, but I can’t imagine they’ll say no to little sentries placed ‘ere an’ there.” Only then did Engineer notice Scout’s shirts. He was still wearing his usual blue shirt and brown pants (sans socks), but there were a couple of other shirts on the bed next to him. A short sleeved dress shirt, a long sleeved dress shirt, a vest, a turtleneck, several more casual t-shirts, and a suit jacket, all in various shades of blue. He looked up at Scout, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“S’nothing special,” Scout muttered, embarrassed. “I’m just checkin’ ‘em out. Ma used to get mad if we didn’t try on our suit jackets every now’n then t’make sure we hadn’t grown out of ‘em.”

Engineer grunted. There was an awkward pause. “Y’know, Scout,” Engie finally said, “your argument with Spy yesterday made me think.”

Scout frowned and folded his arms defensively. “Are you here t’ offer yer advice on love too?”

“Perhaps, perhaps, if you want me to. But if’n it’s alright with you, I’d rather hear what you have t’ say on the matter.” He gazed steadily up at Scout, who just stood there, looking confused. “I’ve noticed changes in you in the last week,” he continued. “Yer more cheerful, except when yer not, and ya get mood swings like some teenager just learnin’ how datin’ works. Ya get periods where y’avoid the rest of us like the plague, and ye’v taken up readin’ as a new hobby, something I know for a fact you’ve never been interested in. 

Now, I know that’s all parta bein’ in yer early twenties—heck, I went through a similar thing at yer age and I’m sure most of the other fellas on the team did too.” He chuckled. “But I also know that it helped me sort things out when I talked it over with someone.” Engineer looked pointedly at Scout.

“I…” Scout looked away, fingering one of the t-shirts on the bed. “It’s just freakin’ stupid,” he snapped. “I’ve tried bein’ a badass, which wasn’t hard cuz I am one already, I’ve tried assertin’ my dominance, I’ve tried gifts an’ praise, I’ve tried bein’ polite and shit, I’ve tried bein’ a gentleman, I’ve tried everythin’ under the goddamn sun and I still have no idea what I’m doin’! I mean, what does she want from me? I’m not just gonna shapeshift inta Captain Kirk overnight! I wanna be me, but I wanna be a me that she won’t smack in the face, y’know? An’ I think I’ve been doin’ that pretty okay up ‘til now, but then there was this poem an’—”

“Poem?” Engineer interrupted. “What poem?”

Scout ended up telling Engineer everything—the poem, the reason he was reading To Kill a Mockingbird in the first place, the reason he was going to the office tonight, everything. 

“I just wanna make sure it all goes down right,” he finished. “If I fuck this up she’ll never talk to me again an’ I may as well just give up an’ be single forever an’ grow old surrounded by cats.”

Engineer chuckled. “Well, that’s mighty sweet of ya t’be so set on our Miss Pauling.”

“Shut up laughin’ or yer gonna eat that hard hat.”

“Now now, no need t’be so melodramatic ‘bout it, son. And I think I know something else you could try.”

Scout perked up. “What?”

“Ever think of askin’ her what it is she wants from ya? Maybe she don’t want a Captain Kirk, or a James Bond, or any of that sorta thing. Maybe she’s just interested in you. What you said tonight about what yer gonna say when you talk to her is fine. So go talk to ‘er. It might go better’n you think.” He patted Scout on the shoulder and started to leave. 

“Oh, and you look all right. Just go as is.” He closed the door behind him.

Scout chewed his lip indecisively for a moment, then opened the door and stepped out. “Thanks,” he called down the hall at the retreating Engineer. “Y’know, fer…just thanks.”

Engineer waved, not looking over his shoulder. “Anytime, pardner.”

***

The door was unlocked again and Scout strode down the hall confidently. He could do this. No big deal. Just ask her what she wanted from him.

He’d walked past her door. Shit.

He turned back and opened her door. “Hey, Miss Pauling, you still here?” he asked.

Miss Pauling was sitting at her desk, writing away on something. She turned when she heard Scout come in, smiling. “Of course,” she said. “Where else would I be?”

She was wearing a purple dress that came down to her knees, black flats, and his jacket. His brain temporarily stopped working. Miss Pauling was wearing his jacket. Miss Pauling was wearing his jacket! That…that was a good sign, right? It was way too big for her and the sleeves kept falling down over her hands, and it clashed horribly with her outfit and the way she generally presented herself, but it was definitely still a good sign. Right?

And actually, it was kinda hot…

She glanced at where he was staring and laughed awkwardly. “Oh, right, your jacket,” she said, standing up. “It was chilly in here today and I didn’t have anything else with me. Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, that’s alright,” he protested. “I mean, don’t worry about it,” he said, trying to sound as confident as he’d felt after talking with Engie. “That’s why I left it here anyway.”

Scout couldn’t remember any of his brilliant Plan. Fuck why did things always sound okay when you practiced them in your head but when you have to do them for real they just wouldn’t go right? Miss Pauling was looking at him questioningly, and he suddenly remembered that he’d forgotten Engineer’s blueprints. God dammit, was anything going to go right?

“Can you answer something for me?” he blurted. Shit he was starting to turn red, he could feel it. She nodded. “What do you want me to be?”

She frowned. “I don’t—”

“Dammit, I’m trying!” he shouted. It came out angrier than he’d meant it to. “I’m trying to be a guy you’d be interested in but the thing is I don’t know what kind of guy that is! I’ve tried everything I can think of! So…what do you want me to be?”

Miss Pauling stared at him, taken aback. Her eyes narrowed a little behind her glasses. “I think the real question is what do you want me to be?” she asked, a little ice in her voice. 

“I don’t want to be just another one of your girls, a prize you’ve earned for working so hard to get my attention. If you—”

“No, that’s not it!” Scout interrupted. “I don’t have any other girls, just you! I mean sure I’ve dated before, but you probably have too and it’s not that big a deal, right?”

“Well, no, but it’s not an issue of whether we’ve dated other people before or not, it’s an issue of whether you’d be faithful to me or not! And I’m still not entirely sure I want to go out with someone who less than a week ago walked into my office and declared we were going to have—”

“In my defense, that was Soldier’s idea,” Scout said.

She smirked at him. “So you have been asking the rest of the Team for advice. Whose idea was the poem then?”

He thought a minute before answering. “That depends. Did you like it?”

She adjusted her glasses a little. “It was a little cute,” she admitted, looking at a point on the wall behind Scout and almost absently clutching at the sleeves of Scout’s jacket.

“Then it was totally mine,” he said. “Completely my idea and not Medic’s at all—wait, you actually thought it was good?”

“I said ‘cute,’ not good.” She was wearing a little half-grin, though still not looking Scout in the face. He was glad to see she was turning a little pink too; at least he wasn’t the only one blushing.

“Still, though, I…” He took a deep breath and grabbed her by the shoulders. She yelped and looked ready to smack him again. “I wanna make this work,” he said desperately. 

“C’mon, Miss Pauling, we’d be awesome together! Let me take you out on one date, okay? Just one! An’…an’ if you don’t like it then I’ll…I’ll leave you alone and never…never bother you…anymore.” He swallowed, watching her face for her reaction. “Well?”

Miss Pauling looked up at him, chewing her lip, a habit of hers that he’d noticed and thought was kind of cute. “To answer your question earlier,” she finally said, “I don’t want you to be anything. What you’re doing right now is just fine.” She reached up and patted his cheek tenderly. “Just don’t take any more advice from Soldier and we can probably make this work.”

It took a moment for her words to sink in. “So…is that a yes?”

She just laughed. “I’m done here at six tomorrow night. Pick me up at six-thirty.” She gathered up a few things and ushered Scout out of the office. “See you then,” she said, handing him his jacket.

“Uh, yeah. Right.” He took the jacket and started to walk off, then turned and called, “You won’t regret it, Miss Pauling! You’ll see!”

Miss Pauling smiled and closed her door.

Scout was halfway back to the base when he finally realised that he’d actually managed to score a date with Miss Pauling. He victory-danced inside, shouting how awesome he was at the top of his abnormally powerful lungs.

***

The next night, a beat-up, rusty old lemon pulled up to the base, next to Engineer’s pickup. Scout sat in the passenger seat, feeling like an idiot. This was so unmanly. It was the guy’s job to drive the girl home, not the other way around!

But Miss Pauling was the only one who had a car, and neither Engineer nor Sniper would lend Scout their vehicles, so she’d had to drive. She hadn’t seemed to mind all that much, but it made Scout feel like he was a bad date.

It hadn’t been a bad date; at least Scout didn’t think so. They’d gone to see the local little league (which barely had enough players for Teufort East and Teufort West teams) play. 

He’d shown Miss Pauling how to score baseball and explained the long and complicated history of the rivalry behind the Teufort East Bluebirds and the Teufort West Red Wolves. 

They’d had some neat conversations during the long stretches where not much happened (of which there were many). She’d told him about the last gun show she’d gone to and how she’d gotten to try firing one of the new shotguns. BLU had considered getting it as a new weapon for Engineer, she’d said, but they didn’t want to offend him by buying him new weapons instead of letting him make his own. He’d told her about growing up in Boston with seven brothers.

After the game, Scout had insisted on taking Miss Pauling out for ice cream. He’d put his arm around her shoulder at one point, and she hadn’t seemed to mind.

But they both had an early start ahead of them the next day, and she eventually had to make him go home. And now here they were, in front of the BLU base, getting out of her car. Shit, what was he supposed to do now?

They stood in front of her car, looking at each other awkwardly. “I had a surprisingly good time, Scout,” she said quietly. She tucked a stray piece of hair out of her face.

He grinned at her. “Yeah, I did too.” Wait, surprisingly? Whatever, she’d had a good time, and that was what mattered. “So tomorrow,” Scout said.

Miss Pauling frowned slightly. “What about it?”

“Is it okay if I come by the office tomorrow? Y’know, just to chat?”

She smiled again. “I think so. I’m sure I can swing something.”

“Yeah. Okay. Great.”

The awkward silence returned. Then Scout grabbed her by the shoulders for the second time in as many days and pressed their lips together.  
When they pulled apart, her arms were wrapped around his neck and he was cradling the back of her head with one hand, the other resting on her hip. He grinned down at her, and she smiled up at him, unwrapping her arms and moving away slightly. “Good night,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”

“Y…yeah. Tomorrow. Right, okay.” Try as he might, he couldn’t wipe the goofy grin off his face. “See ya then.”

Scout waved as she drove away, then turned and sprinted into the base. He was surprised to find Engineer was still up, working on something metal and somewhat hand-shaped. 

“You’re still up, Hardhat?”

Engineer looked up from his spot at the kitchen table. “Oh, there y’are, son. Yeah, couldn’t sleep. Where’ve you been? Haven’t seen ya since the fight today.”

Scout grabbed a bottle of milk and a donut out of the fridge. “Engineer, you are lookin’ at the proud boyfriend of one Miss Pauling,” he boasted.

“Well well.” Engineer smiled. “That’s mighty nice, Scout.”

Scout launched into what had happened that night and the night before, periodically interrupting himself to chug milk or take a bite of donut. Engineer just listened, and smiled, and remembered that it hadn’t seemed like too long ago that he was doing the exact same thing with his father about a young woman named Jenny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OTP! OTP! OTP!


	10. Epilogue: Endgame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a happy ending of sorts is achieved and RED Scout finally makes an appearance.

“Heeey, Miss P, how’s it goin’?”

Her small shoulders stiffened slightly for a split second, then she started down the hall again, ignoring him. The RED Scout wasn’t known for his stubbornness for nothing, though. 

“So guess who was totally dominating that BLU Soldier bastard today?” Without giving her a chance to respond, he answered his own question. “Me, that’s who! Pretty great, right?”

“I know, Scout. I saw the logs of today’s battle too.” Miss Pauling continued walking, her head held high, looking straight ahead and not at the lanky young man sauntering cockily at the edge of her vision. “But I’m busy right now and you aren’t supposed to be in the office. I think you’d better go.”

“Nah, I’d rather hang out here with a pretty girl like you.” He winked at her, and she sighed, getting a feeling of déjà vu. “Besides, it can’t be too big of a deal, right? People come in an’ out of here all the time.”

She finally stopped walking and turned to face him fully. “Look, Scout, I’m not going to mince words here. I’m just not interested. Okay? So just go back to the base and forget we ever had this conversation.” Miss Pauling opened the door to her office. “And for your information,” she added over her shoulder, “I have a boyfriend.” Then she closed the door behind her with a soft click, leaving a crushed Bostonian in her wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is closure
> 
> Thank you for reading my silly fanfiction! I hope you enjoyed it! Thank you again!
> 
> Ed.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this quite a while ago, and though I've since edited it, I think it still has a few issues here and there (especially involving Solly because he's hard to write). Please let me know if you have any constructive criticisms. Thanks!


End file.
